Meeting Muppets
by fakeasain56
Summary: A series of drabbles when different Sherlock characters meet different Muppets. Chapter Nine: Mrs. Hudson and The Muppet Show  -End-
1. Rowlf and John

He had been abandoned again.

The blond-haired man's eyes closed in an attempt to control himself and not snap at the nearest passerby. Of course Sherlock had run off without him! His limp had been slowing him down, and Sherlock refused to believe that the limp actually did hurt.

It might all be in his mind, but his mind could bloody well hurt some times.

He glanced around himself morosely, wondering what to do next. Either Sherlock would remember him and turn back, or he would forge ahead.

His eyes fell on a small pub, and his eyes considered it closely for a few moments. He was a bit on the hungry side, and could go for some chips. There was a warm, inviting air to the pub, and distantly he could hear the sound of a piano.

The old tune brought a smile to his lips, and he walked towards the pub, pushing open the door.

It was unsurprisingly empty; not many came around this hour. The piano was tucked away, slightly out of sight, but next to the bar.

He limped forward, feeling curious as to who the mysterious piano player could possibly be.

He rounded the corner, and stopped dead.

There was a dog. Playing the _piano_. Paws tickled the ivories, as long brown ears swung to the jaunty tune. "Hello stranger." The rough, gravely voice was surprisingly calming, and he took a step forward. "You look like you could use a sit down."

"I- certainly." The fact that he was talking to a dog faded, no longer important. He pulled himself up onto a stool, leaning against the gleaming surface. He couldn't see the bartender, but he didn't feel quite as hungry.

"You're not from around here, are you?" John murmured, as the tune switched to an old American show tune.

"Hmmm? Oh, I spent a few years here, but I heard a friend needed my help so I came here." John smiled in delight- so the dog wasn't around here.

Silence fell, blessed, peaceful silence, only filled with good music. John relaxed in the silence, feeling his eyes grow heavy. It was nice to be able to simply sit and enjoy- Sherlock had his moments, true, but not like this, when there wasn't any motion of frenzy, but only a calmness that soothed the soul.

The dog's head cocked towards him. "You seem troubled my friend."

"It's been a hard week." John admitted, and surprised himself with admitting. He was a private man, kept his thoughts to himself.

"Tell this old dog your troubles; I'm willing to listen. Shouldn't talk too much, I'm told I have dog breath." The dog laughed quietly at his own joke, John smiling at the sound.

He ought to be ashamed about the outpouring of emotions that poured out, heaping themselves on the dogs' shoulders, but it was cleansing. The dog only offered jokes and bad puns in response, not advice or nagging, or even emotions.

He finished up with a last rant about, "And he left me behind, again." He brandished a chip he didn't remember buying at the dog.

The dog simply shook his head, picking up on his cue for a pun again, "Left you like a landed fish, hmm?"

John nodded, delighted at finding someone to talk too. His therapist was all good, but there was some points when all he wanted to do was rant and rave, and not be told about _feelings_.

The dog swayed in time to the music, and for the first time that John had came to sit down, pulled the music to a close. "I'm afraid I've got to go- there's a montage coming up I have to get ready for. It was good talking too you."

A paw extended towards him, John shook it firmly. "By the way, I'm John Watson. If you ever come to London again just ring me up; we can talk again."

"That'd sure be fine my friend." The rough, rumbling voice grew slightly conspiratorial, "By the way my friend; I have a suggestion- if you ever need to get somewhere fast again, travel by map."

The dog winked at him, before jumping down from the piano bench. He was short enough that he disappeared from John's sight, and when he leaned over the side, there was no sign of the dog.

He clambered to his feet, circling around. There was no sign of the dog.

"Nuts. I've gone absolutely nuts." Fingers firmly wrapped around the cane, but there wasn't any pain from his leg. For now. He had no doubt that by the time he got to Baker Street it would hurt again.

_Travel by Map_. How did one do that?

He stepped out into the fading light, and closed his eyes. In his mind, he could see a map, and, bemusedly, he drew a line between his current location and Baker Street.

When he opened his eyes again, he was standing before Baker Street.

He stared at it for a moment, before utterly chucking in all attempts to organize his mind and make sense of the day. If a dog could play the piano, he had a crazy roommate who actually had an _archenemy_, why couldn't he travel by map?

He stepped into the hallway, and came to face to face with Sherlock. Sherlock looked surprised to see him. Sharp eyes scanned him, a puzzled look growing on his face. "How? What did you do?"

"Hmmm?"

"Everything says that you were still on the street where I left you at, and then suddenly appeared at Baker Street. How?"

A smile curved John's lips. "I traveled by map of course." Laughing, he mounted the stairs to his bedroom, leaving Sherlock to puzzle over the strangeness of his answer.

* * *

><p><em>an: Well, a series of drabbles, of each Sherlock Holmes character meeting one of the muppets. If you have any ideas/preferences on who should meet who, just drop a line!_


	2. Scooter and Athena

The woman scowled darkly at the screen, tapping away furiously. For perhaps once in her time since working for Mycroft, she was bored. They were in a huge meeting, the internet was poor enough to keep her from hacking anything, and she was one of the few assistants sitting along the edge of the room.

One of the men looked at his watch, before looking back up. "Scooter should be here any moment with refreshments."

_Who? Scooter? What kind of name is that-_ "Excuse me miss." A voice pipped up from about waist height, as a large platter filled with coffee floated past. She couldn't help but stare as a yellow hand placed coffee before each member. Mycroft stared at the coffee for a moment, before placing it off to the side.

Athena watched as the platter seemingly floated its way back to her. "Is the seat next to you taken ma'm?"

"…No."

"Good." The platter was lowered to the floor, and she found herself staring at a yellow skinned creature. Glasses glinted in the light, as the creature pulled himself up onto the seat. Feet swung in the air, as Scooter pulled out a iPad from who knew where.

A finger pressed against the screen, and carefully she averted her eyes, watching what he was doing out of the corner of her eye.

At first there were spreadsheets, complicated patterns, and the inklings of a design that could be very important one day. She made a slight note as he worked away at it, hours slowly trickling by.

At last he paused, stretching out his hand. Finally he glanced down at the pad. With a slightly nervous look around, to check to see if anybody was watching, he tapped a small icon.

Athena watched in curiosity as what looked like a simple list along with times popped up. Curiosity overwhelming her, she typed a quick message into a box, and watched as the message popped up on the other's tablet.

Eyes slid to her for a moment. At last Scooter typed in a reply.

_Hello Miss. Can I get your name? –S_

_Call me Athena. How did you know it was me? –A_

_Lucky guess. When you're a backstage manager you tend to notice when someone wants to ask you something and just how important that question is. –S_

_I was just wondering what you were working on. We have several hours left. –A_

_Oh, it's just a nostalgic thing. I used to work as a backstage manager for a theater, before it shut down. Sometimes I'll pull up lists of acts that would go on and scroll through them, along with props and such. –S_

_Isn't it better working for Google? –A_

_It pays better… but I miss everyone else. –S_

A slightly melancholy smile appeared on Scooters face, as he stared off into the distance.

Athena didn't pry, merely tapped in her next message. _What do you do for Google? –A_

_I'm a part time gopher and work on designing Google+. And yourself? –S_

_I work with a minor official. –A_

_Cool! I bet that has a lot of organizing and such going on. –S_

Apparently, Scooter was obsessed with the idea of organizing something. She grinned slightly as she tapped back a response.

The next few hours passed by happily, as the two texted back and forth- Scooter had some surprisingly good ideas on how to organize time efficiently when directing people, and she had tips on how to organize time efficiently when on an computer.

The meeting ended at last, with Scooter tucking the pad beneath his arm. His hand extended to Athena, and a bright smile was on his face. "It was nice chatting with you."

"The same." She actually brought her eyes off of her phone to shake his hand in response before following after Mycroft, saving the e-mail address.

Mycroft had been bugging her about getting a pen pal, and he promised to be quite the good one.


	3. Molly and Miss Piggy

Molly shuffled awkwardly in the line, scrubbing at her eyes angrily. As if it wasn't bad enough being told that one's boyfriend was gay, one just had to find out that he was a crazed bomber responsible for the deaths of many.

It would've been bearable if it weren't for all of the looks people kept giving her, effectively chasing her out of the morgue and into Starbucks. At least here she could get good coffee to go along with the stupid stares.

She sniffled again, stepping forward to make an order, and ended up tripping over what she thought was her own two feet. "Hey! Watch it Sister!"

"Huh? Wha-"

Molly scrambled back desperately, attempting to get away from the owner of the voice. Blond hair flashed in the light, with two triangle ears poking up out of them.

Molly could only gape uselessly as a blond pig woman emerged from out of the tangled mess. She was wearing a stylish dress, and a hat perched on her head was tilted carefully to create a pleasing offset. "I-I'm sorry. You're not hurt are you?"

The pig frowned at her, snout wrinkling, before brushing off her dress with a casual sweep. "Moi is just fine thank you." She paused, and as an afterthought added, "Are vous fine?"

"I- No. No I'm not." Molly caught a sob in her chest before it could thrust its way out. "I just found out my boyfriend is a gay terrorist, and the one guy I really do like won't give me the time of the day!"

Angrily she scrubbed at her eyes, and stopped, surprised as a lace handkerchief was placed in her hands. "I know _exactly_how that feels." The pigs voice was soft. "Miss Piggy."

"I- Molly Hooper."

"Come on dear, Let's sit and talk. Some girl talk."

Piggy led Molly to a small table, where for the next few hours they discussed men, the problems with them, and how one is to deal with them. Piggy scarfed down an entire dozen donuts, while Molly picked at her own, until Piggy looked her in the eye.

"Listen up sister, 'cause I'm only going to say this once; you need to learn how to stand up for yourself."

"But how?"

Piggy regarded her seriously for a moment, before sighing and shaking her head. "I think its time for vous to get a makeover. Follow me."

She crammed one last donut into her mouth, before standing up. "Now then. Let's go."

"Huh? Wha-"

What happened next can only be properly explained with a musical makeover. Molly found herself being dragged through a whirlwind plethora of shops, barbers, manicures, acting lessons, and curiously, a stop to a gym where Piggy showed her the secret to a Karate Chop.

Molly fidgeted slightly in the traditional clothing she didn't remember buying, watching as Piggy slowly showed her how to chop at the sandbag.

She could feel the eyes of what had to be at least ten men on the back of her head as she mimicked Piggy's gesture.

There was a laugh from behind them, as a huge man, at least six feet tall and built like a tank, swaggered up to them, six pack flexing impressively. "Little girls like you shouldn't be here."

Piggy turned slowly, eyes sparking with an inner fire. "Oh, and would you happen to be talking to _Moi_?"

"What do you know, we have a pig! Looks like I'll be bringing home the ham tonight!" The man threw his head back to laugh.

Miss Piggy's eyes slid sideways, as if addressing an invisible audience, "The things I put up with- HIII-YAAAH!"

The sharp karate chop slammed into the man's midriff. The man doubled over, gasping and clutching at his stomach as Miss Piggy brought her arm up and brought her elbow down on the back of his neck.

The man collapsed unconscious on the floor.

The entire building went silent. Piggy cracked her knuckles, French accent dropping into something that resembled a truck driver, "Anyone else?"

Silence for a long few moments, before someone pointed a finger. "GET THEM!"

Molly ducked the first punch headed her way, hand lashing out in the way Miss Piggy had taught her. The man grunted, doubling over. Without realizing it, a wild grin spread across her face, as her hand moved again, finishing the man off.

Looking up wildly for the next man, she found Miss Piggy on top of a pile of unconscious, groaning men. "That… felt surprisingly good."

The pig winked at her as she hopped down. "I knew vous would enjoy it. If your man ever says no to you again, just threaten to chop him."

"Yes Miss Piggy."

Molly floated out of the room, finally feeling as if life was beginning to look up. She was going to show the men in her life just what happened when they messed with her!


	4. Moran And Crazzy Harry

Sebastian Moran was never one to believe in fate. If something happened, it was simply coincidence. Certainly, meeting Moriaty had been the luckiest day of his life, but still, a coincidence.

Right now however, he was beginning to wonder if there was perhaps fate, trying to tell him that he was going to be stuck among weirdos for the rest of his life.

This particular weirdo was busy giggling manically over the boxes of explosives stacked up in the warehouse, murmuring quickly under his breath, counting the boxes carefully. At times he would turn to look at his diagram, before looking back to the boxes.

"Sir? Are you certain this is the guy?" Someone hissed softly at his elbow. He shot them a bored, languid look.

It didn't really matter who the person was, so long as he got paid the correct amount. Still- He padded forward, lightly and soundlessly as the diminutive man dropped the diagram onto the floor and started scrambling up the crates. "Ahem."

The man made some kind of noise, and Moran stared at him for a moment longer. "Money please?"

The man pointed to a suitcase sitting off to the side. "In there! Lots of booms- ehhehehehe~"

Moran glowered at the person for a long moment, before gesturing to one of his men sharply. They quickly opened the suitcase- it was filled to the brim with money, American bills yes, but enough and more then what they asked for.

Moran smirked as he stepped towards it. They would leave the man with his explosives, and claim no knowledge when a public building was blown up. Slightly curious, he glanced down at the plans, wondering what school was going to vanish this time.

What he got instead was a highly detailed, carefully marked diagram on how to blow up Stonehenge to rearrange in the face of the current buyer.

Moran stopped. Stared. Thought. "The deal is off."

The man's face swiveled towards him, crazed grin not even flickering. "No deal for Crazy Harry?"

"None."

He may not be the worlds greatest citizen, but he was _not _going to allow a bloody Yank waltz in, bomb Stonehenge to look like his face, and waltz right back out!

Crazy Harry giggled in response. Moran took a step back, some inner sense telling him to run. The madman pulled up a remote- a remote to the explosives. Moran patted his pocket, looking madly for that remote. It wasn't there.

He took off running, abandoning minions to their fate. The crazed, cackling laugh reached its highpoint, and the colossal boom echoed behind him. He turned, in curiosity, wondering what had become of his men.

They staggered out of the rubble, covered in soot, and completely black from head to toe. Moran stared at them for a few moments, stuck both hands in his pockets, and gave the day up as a rather bad day.

Still, he could at the very least salvage the money.

He took a step forward, when Crazy Harry's chuckling filled the air, and he took a step back. The man had been sitting on the explosives. He should not have survived; and even if he had survived, then he should not be emerging from the rubble like a phoenix. A crazed, explosive loving, definitely off his rocker phoenix, but on fire nonetheless.

Moran chucked in the day as being a bad day, and slunk home to where Moriaty could soothe his woes with an order to kill someone.


	5. Moriaty and Gonzo

Jim Moriaty had been having a very good day when he found a weird blue thing strung upside down in a tree, with a weight hanging off its hook shaped nose. He was about to go by whatever ghastly piñata the local children had made, when the creature spoke.

"Hello."

He stopped; turned around to stare.

"Mind giving a fellow a hand here? I'm afraid I'm a bit tied up at the moment." The creature wiggled in the ropes as if to prove a point.

Moriaty's eyes swept the ropes, frown growing. "How did you end up like this?" He made no move to help the creature out.

"Oh, I was practicing a cool act that I thought would be fun! I was originally going to have a pit filled with fire beneath me, but I was told that was against the law." One eyelid rose at the man, as the creature paused for dramatic effect. "By the way- my name is Gonzo. Gonzo the Great!"

"Gonzo." Jim tasted the word, holding it close in his mouth as he finally stepped closer to the creature. "What are you?"

"Oh, I'm a Whatever." Gonzo shrugged, and laughed as the contraption swung from side to side in the breeze.

"I see." Jim bent to pick up what looked like a discarded weight. Stepping forward, he hung it on the creatures nose, waiting eagerly to hear what a scream of pain from it would sound like.

Instead, he got a joyful laugh.

"That feels great! Thanks for the help! Now then, I, the Great Gonzo, will practice my daring Houdini escape!"

Gonzo began to swing back and forth, and only then did Jim spot the knives buried pointy-end up in a circle around the creature.

He went and fetched popcorn.


	6. Mycroft and The Swedish Chef

Mycroft pressed his hands together as he stared at the… creature across from him. The creature stared back. The spatula in one hand was dripping with some kind of unknown substance.

He turned a little pale at the sight, and cleared his throat authoritatively.

The creature's mouth opened beneath the thick mustache. "Yeuuusss?"

The… foreign language this creature was speaking sounded like nothing Mycroft had ever heard before, and he had traveled across the world many, many times.

"Excuse me Chef, but what is this?" Mycroft poked at the slimy _gray _thing on his plate.

"Un ooctupoos tentecle-a!" The chef made a motion, and the substance on the spatula went flying to whap a passing man in the back of the head.

Mycroft watched in sick fascination as the substance moved, baring teeth at the Chef. The Chef either didn't notice or didn't care as he tugged at the thick mustache, making some kind of garbled noise.

"I see." His eyes slid over to the man who had invited him to this dinner in the first place. The man was quite happily tucking into his gray thing, humming like it was some kind of delicacy.

Mycroft poked the thing on his plate and decided there was no possible way it could possibly be delicious.

A passing dog caught his eye, and he snuck a look at the Chef, who had, somewhere in the time, once again moved back behind the counter, to where a large pot was boiling. What looked like an octopus tentacle was slowly rising from out of the pot, coiling around the Chef's neck. The chef futilely waved the spatula at it, attempting to beat it off. The pot bubbled ominously, and Mycroft took advantage of everyone's distracted attention.

He dropped the gray thing to the floor. The dog took one sniff and promptly went scuttling to the other side of the room. Oh, he was really beginning to regret ever appearing at this event.

His eyes went back to the Chef standing behind the counter. The pot was gone, though steam continued to rise from behind the counter, and a gigantic purple tentacle decorated the counter top prettily. That wasn't really what had caught his attention though.

The Chef was holding a bazooka. Every muscle in Mycroft's body locked up as the chef hefted it, pointing it at two pumpkins. None of the guards even so much as flinched as the Chef fired it.

There was a booming roar, and a bright flash.

Mycroft blinked a few times, patting himself down, making certain all body parts were attached.

All body parts were accounted for.

His eyes turned towards the Chef, and instead found a countertop with two pumpkin pies, and scattered pieces of what once was pumpkin shell. He stared at it for a moment longer, as the Chef gave the nearest person two thumbs up, before collapsing.

Mycroft stood, ignoring the guard's odd look.

"Something wrong sir?"

"Absolutely nothing," Mycroft lied through gritted teeth. "I am leaving early."

_With my sanity intact, which is more then what I could say for you._

He was rather relieved when he got news that the so-called chef had gone back to America, murmuring something about a movie.


	7. Sherlock and Muppet Labs

Sherlock scowled darkly at the almost empty laboratory, setting his bag filled with ideas to be tested down. John had kicked him out of the flat after the last experiment caught on fire, and Mrs Hudson had hidden all of the equipment while the repairers worked their magic on the floor.

It was just a little hole, hardly any need to be alarmed!

"Beakie, could you grab the nitroglycerin please?"

"Mii!"

"Thank you. Now stand back please, we don't want you to catch on fire again." A snicker sounded in the air, as Sherlock turned to look at the only other two scientists in the lab.

Both were on the short side, one however had bright green fuzzy skin, with glasses perched on a vaguely nose-shaped object, while the other was a thin human looking creature that had a far too big mouth and shock of red hair on top.

The second had its head slowly sinking into the collar of its body, looking distinctly terrified. The first scientist dropped a small pill into the vial of bubbling blue liquid, and smiled happily as said vial blew up.

Glass shards made a beautiful arc above the green one's head, straight for the red-head, and Sherlock found himself taking a hasty step back as the red-head began to shriek in panic.

"Oh, Beaker, do stop complaining. Oh, look, company!"

Leaving Beaker flailing unhappily in the background hair on fire, the green one stepped towards Sherlock. "Hello, I am Doctor Bunsen Honeydew of Muppet Labs."

"Sherlock Holmes. What did you just do?" Sherlock demanded, fascinated by what Honeydew had just done. If he could replicate the effects, then he might not ever have to pick a lock again.

"Oh, it was simple. Here, follow me."

The two spent a thoroughly enjoyable couple of hours discussing chemicals, properties of it, whether it was possible to clone someone (Sherlock would've stolen those plans if Beaker, still on fire, hadn't set fire to that plan) shrink them, or make them bigger.

Bunsen seemed interested in a few of his chemical experiments, but admitted he was in it for more of the pure science then the practical application. Still, the information was new, and Bunsen made careful notes of it as Beaker put himself out in the back ground.

"Thank you Mister Holmes." Bunsen smiled up at him- or at least Sherlock thought he had. "Now then, if you'll excuse us, Me and Beakie need to get to the CERN facility. We were invited to work on it."

Beaker waved goodbye to Sherlock as the two trooped out.

It was only then did Sherlock realize just how badly destroyed the laboratory had become. Swiftly he moved to the window, and clambered down from it, glad that he would not be leaving his fingerprints on anything. Besides, Mycroft wouldn't let anyone arrest him anyways.


	8. Lestrade and Robin

Lestrade sighed happily as he plopped down onto the park bench, head tilting back to enjoy the full effect of the sunlight on his face. He could still see the little indentation in the reeds where a body had been found, but he was all in favor of ignoring it to simply enjoy being in America.

Even if it was stinking hot, and he was nearby a marsh. He could hear the sounds of frogs croaking, the fireflies buzzing softly, and the soft chirrup of crickets in the reeds. In fact- he thought for certain he could hear the soft sound of someone singing.

He didn't move. He had (successfully) tracked down a killer, acted as a liaison with the American police force, and he _wasn't moving_. His five hour vacation was starting now.

He wasn't expecting something wet to slap against his face.

He sat up with a blinking flail, attempting to brush the wetness off his face. There was a low groan, and whatever was on his face fell into his cupped hands.

Lestrade blinked down at the rather large frog in his hand. "What on Earth?"

"Oh, hello mister. Sorry about waking you up." The frog in his hands began to stand, swaying on his flippers unsteadily, before collapsing back into Lestrade's hands. Lestrade wondered when exactly his mind had snapped.

It probably had something to do with Sherlock stealing all of his warrant cards again before he left.

The frog gave him a big, toothless smile. "By the way, my name is Robin, Robin the Frog."

"Lestrade." He lowered his hands, gently depositing the frog onto the bench. The two stared at each other in curiosity. "Why are you here?"

"Oh, I live in the swamp over there with ma and dad." Robin pointed off towards the swamp before making an embarrassed noise, "I was trying to catch a firefly and accidentally hopped onto your face. Sorry about that. Why are you here? You're not from around here. I know everyone in town."

Lestrade glanced at where the body was, and shook his head. No need to tell the kid too much. "I just helped catch a murderer. Now I've got five hours in which to do nothing."

"Oooh, would you like to come visit the swamp? I can show you the alligators, and the brand new tadpoles, and show you my own banjo. Uncle Kermit sent it to me to learn how to play on!" Robin eagerly bounced, his small form reaching Lestrade's shoulder.

Then, guiltily, he covered his mouth. "Only if you want to of course."

Lestrade had been planning on simply sitting around until it was time to go, but… "If I go with you, will I get eaten?"

"Nooo, of course not! Arnie doesn't touch any humans with me. I promise!"

Robin leaped off the bench, and grabbed Lestrade by the hand. The cool, slick skin temporarily gave Lestrade some doubt, before Robin was off like a shot, tugging him towards the swamp with a happy laugh.

He spent the next few hours wandering around the edges of the swamp, critiquing Robin's diving performance, applauding his attempts to play the banjo, and actually enjoying the sweet singing that Robin gave him.

He met several more frogs, including a cranky old one with a gray beehive style hair and glasses, utterly charming them off their feet. He (not too) regretfully declined the offer to mosquito soup.

Feeling as if years had fallen off his shoulders, he stood up as the fist twinges of night began to fall across the swamp. "I think its time for me to go. Robin, think you can lead me out of here?"

The frog instinctively reached out to his hand, and Lestrade caught it, wondering morosely if he had ever gotten that chance to be a father if this is what it would feel like. They didn't get far until softly came the words, "You remind me of Uncle Kermit."

"Oh? How so?"

"I call him Uncle, but I want to call him _dad_."

Lestrade would've stopped if he could, but numbly allowed himself to be tugged along, barely able to breathe. _Dad? Me?_

"But Uncle Kermit doesn't- he doesn't…" Robin trailed off, this time stopping. Lestrade was aware of a thousand sounds around him, of birds cooing, crickets chirruping, bees droning- but it all went ignored as he patted Robin on the head in place of a hair tousle.

"Don't give up on him. Sometimes even dads have bad days."

"You think so?" His voice sounded wistful, sad, longing for days lost.

"I know so. If he's anything like me, then he's missing you right back."

Lestrade smiled at the thought, wondering what it would be like to have someone waiting at the airport for him to get back. To hold a kid in his arms. Robin peeked up at him, and tugged at his hand. "Don't worry Mister, I'm sure someone will be waiting for you when you get back home."

Those words followed Lestrade across the sea, to an almost empty flat, where Sherlock lay on the couch, clinging to an old case file.


	9. Mrs Hudson and The Muppet Show

Mrs. Hudson always enjoyed memories of Florida when she was away from her Husband for a few hours. When she was younger she could switch on the TV and listen to a bunch of creatures that ran their own variety show, enjoying the laughs, the puns, the music… but her secret enjoyment was always the jokes that came from the brown bear.

"Wocka, wocka, wocka!" The familiar verbal tick brought a smile to her face as she bustled out of the kitchen into her living room to see the bear waving a rubber chicken on the television screen.

She paused, trying to remember if she had put on the recordings; she didn't think so. Not recently; taking care of John and Sherlock ate up so much of her time.

Slowly she took a seat, watching the bear and the man tied up on the chair volley bad jokes at each other, a large smile on her face. Chickens clucked and danced, rats did ballet, frogs hosted, pigs sang-

The smile of delight on her face grew ever wider. It was such a joy to see them on the television again.

Who knew, perhaps she'd get a chance to see them again on Television- she should show it to all of those coming in. Sherlock would find it quite interesting, and John would be pleased to watch a show that he could understand more then half the words too.

It was a wonderful time to be alive.

~Fini~

_Life's a happy song, when there's somebody by your side to sing along!_


End file.
